Taylor Tales
by Hammurabi
Summary: A collection of vignettes about Taylor Hebert. Based on Copacetic, a FF continuation of Worm.
1. Game Over

Originally posted on Spacebattles, each chapter is a stand-alone one-shot vignette (or omake if you prefer the term) based on _Copacetic _by Materia-Blade, a Taylor Hebert fanfiction continuation of _Worm_. If you haven't read _Copacetic_, it is located here:

fanfiction dot net/s/10063793/1/Copacetic

A more up-to-date version of _Copacetic_ is available on Spacebattles.

Minimal spoilers ahead….

_Copacetic_ picks up where _Worm_ leaves off. Taylor and her father have been exiled to Earth Delet, where Taylor recovers physically, starts college, makes friends, and begins to regain powers, both old and new. Even her father begins to show some unusual abilities.

With Taylor likely to become more powerful than ever, I thought it would be fun to project ahead to what the end game might eventually be.

* * *

Game Over  
  
"Hi there. Long time no see," I said as I looked around. "Nice office."

"Taylor!" exclaimed a very surprised Miss Militia as she pressed a silent alarm under her desk. "How the hell did you get in here? For that matter, how are you even still alive?"

"Oh, it's a long story, but I'm better now," I said lightly before staring Miss Militia directly in the eyes. "Much better in fact."

Unnerved, Miss Militia stood up quickly, knocking her rolling chair back against the credenza behind her with a clatter. She held up her hands as an M134 minigun appeared. "You were never granted amnesty, Taylor," she said quietly. "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to leave."

The expression on Miss Militia's face was priceless as I laughed. "Always handy with a weapon. An interesting adaptation. I could change that for you, you know."

Miss Militia frowned with suspicion. "What do you mean?" she asked warily. It had been nearly thirty seconds since she had pressed the panic alarm. Where was her backup?

"Your power," I replied. I smiled to myself as I noticed Miss Militia's nervous glance at the door. We were not going to be interrupted. "I can change that for you. Improve it, lift the Manton limit if you like, change your shard's instructions to produce flowers instead of weapons, or banish it entirely. You could be normal again."

For a moment, Miss Militia seemed to seriously consider what I said, but then I saw it - a hardening of her expression. Oh well, it had been worth a try.

"As intriguing as that sounds, I think I'll stay the way I am," she said slowly. "And I'm afraid standing orders are for you to be shot on sight if you should ever make an appearance." She shook her head. "I'm sorry to be the one to do this to you."

Miss Militia fired the minigun, it's roar earsplittingly loud in the enclosed office.

It didn't matter - I was already prepared for the possibility. I simply stood there and smiled as the bullets turned into butterflies and began to fly around the room in intricate patterns. It was a very pretty display.

The minigun made a whining sound as it spun to a stop. The silence was nearly as stunning as the noise it made. Miss Militia stared hard. "How?" she finally managed to ask.

"Your weapons are all manifestations of your shard - your ability. The gun is not a real gun, and the bullets are not real bullets. I can control them, change them. So you see, when I say I can change you - well really, change your passenger - I mean it."

Miss Militia dropped her minigun, which vanished before it hit the floor. She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a revolver. "This happens to be a real gun. So what you're saying is, you cannot change real bullets."

"Not as such-" I started to say when Miss Militia opened fire.

Really?

I waited until the revolver clicked on an empty casing. "But I can protect myself," I finished. "Nice personal force field, don't you think? It's a trick I picked up from my dad."

Miss Militia took a step back, sitting abruptly in her chair. She was breathing hard, as if she'd just finished a morning run. "What do you want?" she asked after several long seconds of silence as she worked to calm herself down.

I smiled and stretched. "A cup of coffee would be nice," I replied. "Cream, no sugar. I'm just here to drop by and say hello to old friends and colleagues. But when it comes to stuff like you guys trying to hurt me or my friends? I have just one thing to say to that."

I leaned over the desk, holding Miss Militia's undivided attention as I stared her down.

"Game over."


	2. A Little Privacy

Again, based on _Copacetic_.

At one point, it seems as though a boyfriend is a possibility for Taylor. Here, I assume it happens. Also at this point, Taylor has a rather special cat informally called "Mister Comfy," and it seems as though a lot of people are taking too close an interest in Taylor Hebert. Oh, and Taylor is - or thinks she is - starting to communicate with a shard she called "Tales."

Projecting another possible end fate for Taylor...

* * *

A Little Privacy

The candles were lit, soft music played in the background, and my roommates were out. I smiled at Terrence. "It's time," I said.

We had been sitting together on the floor, leaning back against the sofa watching an old movie, a bowl of popcorn between us. We both stood up. On impulse I reached out and brushed away bits of popcorn from Terrance's pants, a bit of intimacy he clearly didn't mind. In exchange he brushed off my pants, his hand lingering. I could feel my pulse pounding. I took Terrance by the hand and led him into my bedroom.

"What the fuck Taylor!" exclaimed Terrence as we entered.

I had four cameras on tripods set up, all aimed at the bed, arranged to capture every angle. They were all hooked up to my computer, ready to provide a live feed – my debut as a web cam girl.

"Welcome to my world," I said, smiling at Terrence's shocked reaction. I kicked off my shoes. "This is just my little way of letting you know what you're getting into."

"Shit girl! Is _this_ what turns you on?" Terrence said, looking panicky. Clearly, sex in public was not his thing.

I sat down on my bed, no longer amused. "NO! It's not a turn-on, but this is what my life has become. The cameras don't matter. We can get rid of them and it won't make any difference! My friends keep tabs on me, the government and God knows who else spies on me, other capes spy on me – including my dad."

I jumped up and glared at the ceiling. "Are you there, Dad?" I raged. "According to you, my year is nearly up! Do you watch me now when I'm showering or sitting on the toilet? After all, you never know when a ninja will jump out of nowhere and attack!"

I dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. "YOU! OUT!" I shouted.

Mister Comfy growled as he ran out from under the bed and out of my bedroom. I got up and slammed the door shut.

"Uh, you're kind of freaking me out here…" Terrence said.

"Oh, I'm just getting started!" I pulled a box out of the closet and slammed it down on the bed. "On a dare from my roommates, I went to an adult toy store," I said as I opened the box. "The owner recognized me – of course – and do you know what he did?" I looked up at Terrence.

"Uh… he asked for your autograph?" Terrence guessed uncertainly.

"No! Well yes, actually, but that's not the point." I reached into the box. "Look at this! Clear ones! Pink ones! Black ones! A really gigantic one – I have no idea how that would ever fit. And then there's this." I held up one of the toys. "The 'rabbit?' Seriously? What does this have to do with bunnies?"

"Jesus Taylor!" said Terrence, shocked. "Why did you buy so many?"

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't buy this stuff – he gave it to me for free – and I finally figured out why!" I locked eyes with Terrence. "That bastard _assumes_ I won't have any privacy. This is his little way of getting some free advertising." I sat back down again, feeling suddenly tired.

"Fuck!" was all Terrence could say. He sat down beside me. Neither of us was in a romantic mood.

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Is it too much to ask for a little privacy?" I said, feeling miserable.

Terrence put his arm around me. God it felt good, having him close to me like that, but damn it – I wanted more! Sex is a part of normal life, and I wanted a normal life. I hated living like a nun, but I'll be damned if I'll _ever_ do it knowing there's a potential audience. The cameras were simply a reminder of what I faced.

The power went out in the building.

It was strangely quiet now that the faint music stopped as well as the little things, like the sound of air blowing in the vents. Thank goodness I already had candles lit!

_I'm helping!_ said Tales.

_Butt out, Tales_, I sent silently. I glared at the Pikachu toy on the desk. I had come to think of it as representing Tales.

_Why? Weren't you prepared to put your butt out to the world a moment ago?_ Tales actually giggled. It giggled!

"Well," Terrence sighed. "I should probably go." He gave me a final squeeze before standing up. He opened the bedroom door and turned to look at me sadly. "Maybe someday we can figure out a way to hook up without the world watching."

"Yeah. Maybe," I responded morosely as I stared down at the rug. I didn't look up again until I heard the front door close.

After a minute, I got up and went back into the living room. I took the popcorn bowl to the kitchen, emptied the remaining kernels into the trash, and dumped the bowl into the sink. I pulled out the battery operated hand vacuum and was busy cleaning up spilled popcorn when there was a knock at the door.

It was Terrence, with a very concerned look on his face. "Taylor! You've got to come see this!" he said excitedly, tugging at my sleeve.

I put on my shoes and together we went carefully down the stairs. Except for the occasional emergency light, it was pitch black. The conditions weren't any better outside. I had never known the great outdoors to be so dark. The only light came from a scattering of emergency lights. It was summer, but there seemed to be a cold snap. I wished I'd put a sweater on.

"Damn it's dark out here." I shivered slightly as I leaned into Terrence.

"It's more than that," he replied, pointing. "Look up."

I couldn't see anything. "Is there cloud cover?" I asked. "I can't see any stars."

"No Taylor," replied Terrence. "It was clear skies, and it's expected to stay that way for the rest of the week."

I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the increasing cold. "I have a bad feeling about this," I said, echoing a line from a movie I had recently seen.

_Tales! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!_

_I'm helping!_ was all the reply I got back.

"Damn! Why is it so fucking cold?" Terrence said. I could see his breath highlighted by an emergency light.

"I think," I said slowly, "we might be caught in a pocket universe now. God knows how big, or if other people may have come along for the ride. We need to see who else is here and organize any supplies we can find. Batteries are a big concern – I don't think there's a sun out there anymore. And blankets – lots of blankets."

"Food may be limited," Terrence added as he started to think about our new reality. "And damn! Without sunlight, any plants will die. After a while we might run short of oxygen."

I put my arm around Terrence as we turned to walk back into the building to begin our search.

"I wouldn't worry about running out of oxygen," I said. "It will be snowing carbon dioxide before that happens."

* * *

In Centralia, crowds gathered around a crater in the middle of town. They all excitedly speculated about what may have happened. Many took selfies or posed with friends for pictures. High above, six newspaper helicopters circulated around the crater, a geometrically precise circle that left some buildings with curved sections missing. There was no other collateral damage – everything outside the crater was intact. What was once in the crater was simply gone.

_Picture if you will, a lonely, gifted girl so important to the world she is continuously monitored by everyone – not out of malice, but out of compassion, love, and concern for her wellbeing. As the saying goes, too much of anything is never a good thing. Good intentions turned her life into a nightmare, but Taylor Hebert has found her privacy at last… in the Twilight Zone._


	3. Paper Beats Rock

I was thinking about Taylor joining Earth Delet's PRT, and how that might go. Then I thought about all the stuff I have to deal with in my job, and this came to mind.

* * *

Paper Beats Rock

"This is it, lady—Rockefeller Plaza. That'll be thirty-seven bucks." The taxi driver turned and looked at me expectantly.

Ouch! _Next time, I'll figure out public transit_, I swore to myself. I exited the yellow cab, along with my small, wheeled suitcase. _Get all your stuff out of the cab before you pay_, was my roommate's advice. I handed the driver a fifty dollar bill through the window.

"Welcome to New York!" With that, the driver took off down West 49th Street without giving back any change.

_Son of a bitch!_

Even in Manhattan, I could feel insects around me. I considered sending a swarm after that taxi driver, but there seemed to be mostly houseflies buzzing dumpsters in the immediate area, and after turning the corner, the taxi quickly blended in with all the other yellow cabs. Taxi cabs, delivery vans, limos, and buses dominated the streets, with only the occasional private car or bike messenger.

I sighed. I did insist on being treated like any other person, even to the point of flying into LaGuardia to meet with a PRT rep here in Rockefeller Plaza. Speaking of whom….

I looked around as I firmly gripped my luggage and began to walk into the plaza. Tall buildings surrounded me. There were people everywhere here, some walking purposely to destinations unknown, others sitting down to eat a lunch purchased from one of several nearby street vendors. There seemed to be an abundance of small restaurants around here as well. The tantalizing smell of food was reminding me I hadn't eaten since I left Centralia this morning. Should I text the PRT rep now, or get something to eat first?

"Taylor? Taylor Hebert?"

I turned around and found myself looking at a small woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, dark hair with a hint of silver strands, and dark brown eyes. I glanced up at the teeming multitudes in the area. Was I really that easy to pick out? As far as I could tell, she didn't have any powers.

"Yes, I'm Taylor Hebert," I finally replied as I regarded this woman.

"I'm Henrietta, your PRT Human Resources liaison," she said with a grin. "I was actually about to grab a bite, when I noticed a tall young woman standing around with a 'lost tourist' look about her."

My stomach rumbled. "Food sounds good," I responded as I looked about. "But I'm a bit lighter on cash than I intended. I took a cab to get here—"

Henrietta laughed. "Don't worry," she said with a wave, "we'll reimburse your travel expenses—eventually—but first we'll have to get you through the paperwork before you can file an expense report. Meanwhile, when it comes to lunch, I usually get something from a street vendor. They're definitely your best deal around here."

Darn. It didn't sound like she was buying me lunch.

With Henrietta leading the way, we walked over to a cluster of food trucks, Henrietta rattling on about the pros and cons of the different vendors. I didn't really listen that closely, but I did wind up with "New York style" pizza as the vendor emphasized, which was quite good. Things were looking up!

Lunch over, Henrietta led the way to a non-descript office tower about two blocks away. We pushed our way through a revolving door into the lobby, a large open area with marble floors and walls, a receptionist sitting behind a marble desk in the middle, and banks of elevators behind her. At first glance, things didn't look any different than your typical office building, but looks can be deceiving.

Enough spiders and flies had managed to get in to allow me to do a little surveillance of my own. There were the intentionally obvious security cameras, but I could tell there were many more hidden ones as well. The friendly looking receptionist had a shotgun under her desk. In addition to a couple of elderly looking security guards in uniform, there was a casual scattering of men in suits in the lobby, seemingly reading newspapers or playing with phones, but with serious looking lumps under their jackets. They were the real security. Off the lobby was a control room full of monitors and a locked cage filled with enough automatic weaponry to supply a small army.

"Let's get you signed in," Henrietta said brightly as we walked up to the receptionist. After showing ID and a confirming phone call to someone, I was given a visitor badge, which I was instructed to wear at all times. We took an elevator to the 31st floor, and stepped into an open area full of desks and bored looking employees.

That was the start of my nightmare.

Henrietta led me to an unoccupied desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a large folder. "Most of what you'll need to do today can be done by computer," she explained, "but there still a few things done by paper. This is your new employee guide, which you'll need to read through. You sign the final page to certify you've read it. That page goes into your permanent file, but the rest is yours to keep."

"Hang on," I said as I sat, dismayed at the size of the thing. "Before we get started, can you point the way to the lady's room?"

In response, Henrietta picked up the desk phone and dialed an internal number. "I need a kit brought to 31BA17 please… yes, the new hire… thanks." She hung up and looked at me. "Someone should be here in a moment to escort you to the lady's."

"Escort?" I replied, confused and incensed. "I'm not five years old. I think I can handle a bathroom on my own."

"Sorry," replied Henrietta with a laugh. "I should have explained. You need to provide a urine sample for the mandatory drug test."

"Drug test!" I exclaimed. "No one said anything about a drug test!"

"Is there a problem?" Henrietta replied coolly as she held my gaze expressionlessly.

"Yes! No! Yes, because I see it as a privacy issue, and no, it's nothing to do with drugs. If you knew anything about my past, you'd know I fought against illegal drugs back on Bet!"

"Nevertheless," replied Henrietta, "If you want to join the PRT, it is a requirement."

"I thought the PRT was just getting started here, and wouldn't have a lot of Mickey Mouse crap," I grumbled, an expression I recalled Dad used a lot, back before Mom died. I didn't understand it then, but I sure did now.

A woman stepped off the elevator and headed our way, carrying a plastic bag.

Henrietta shook her head. "The PRT is a division of Homeland Security," she said, perhaps a bit regretfully. "With all the baggage that comes with it."

"Miss Hebert?" the woman with the bag said with a fixed smile. "I'm to accompany you to the Lady's."

I rolled my eyes. "Lead on," I said with a wave as I stood up.

The moment I spotted the bathroom, I sped up and entered first. The woman followed right behind me, unfazed.

"Here," she said as she pulled a plastic cup out of the bag. "Fill it up to at least this line…" She pointed at the cup. "…and hand it back out of the stall. Do you want these?" She held up a pair of disposable gloves.

"I got it," I grumbled as I snatched the cup out of her hand and stepped into a stall, slamming the door shut. I could hear her snapping on a pair of gloves as I dealt with the stupid little cup. The next thing I discovered? The hard part isn't filling the cup; it is to _stop_ filling the cup.

I handed out the cup, and the first thing Nurse Bitch did was to stick a thermometer in the cup. She sealed it, noted the temperature, the date, initialed it and put it in the bag, then sealed and dated the bag as well.

"You're good to go," she said with a phony smile before going her own way.

At least the worst was over now, right?

I returned to the desk, sat down, and began skimming through the employee guide. Thankfully, the points they wanted to emphasize were bold headers before a paragraph got into details. I just read the headers, then signed the back page.

I handed the back page to Henrietta. "Is that it?" I inquired, hoping that was all.

"A few more things," replied Henrietta as she handed off another piece of paper. "You need to sign this NDA."

"N-what?"

"A Non-Disclosure Agreement. You agree not to disclose PRT proprietary information to the public without prior approval."

That sounded pretty basic. "Okay," I said as I signed off.

"Then there's the acknowledgement of your terms of employment," Henrietta said.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"As a cape, you are being hired as an exempt, at-will management employee."

"And in non-HR speak?" I inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"As a management employee, you cannot join a union. Exempt means no overtime pay, and at-will means you can be fired at any time for any reason with or without cause."

"Well I'm glad we cleared that up," I said sarcastically.

Henrietta leaned forward. "Don't worry too much about that at-will thing," she said confidentially. "In practice, you have to be a real screw-up to get fired around here."

"Whatever." I signed.

"Next there's the Agreement to Arbitration," Henrietta continued. "Translation: If you and the PRT are ever in dispute, you agree to arbitration instead of suing."

Ha! If I ever have a dispute with Dalet's version of the PRT, I wouldn't be suing, but all this legal crapola was making me increasingly wary. "Are we done?" I asked as I signed.

"Oh no. There's the Intellectual Property agreement. That mostly applies to Tinkers, but everyone must sign. Then there are the training exercises on the computer to complete: the Code of Conduct, the Records Retention Policy, the EEO and Harassment training, Diversity training, Employee Resource Group awareness training, compliance training for managers, about fifty hours of contingency assignment training, time recording, expense report policy and training—"

There was more, but I didn't hear it. Somewhere in the middle of that litany, I simply shut down, unresponsive.

Taylor. Skitter. Weaver. Khepri. I had done it all. I orchestrated the death of Scion, the closest thing to a true god all the worlds are ever likely to see! Me! I did that!

This was too much. I stood up and walked out. Henrietta may have been trying to say something. Probably was, now that I think about it. I left the building and walked blindly, not knowing what direction I was headed until I came across Central Park. It occurred to me later I had forgotten my suitcase. I didn't care; it was just another complication.

I've been living here ever since. I know they're looking for me, but they won't find me. I figured out how to shield myself from Dad. And if by chance they do find me, they'll wish they never had. It's simpler this way.


	4. Through the Looking Glass

This short story is also based on Materia-Blade's _Copacetic_. It is inspired as immediately following Chapter 30: Birdcage.

At this point in _Copacetic_, Taylor has been living in New York, and has even met the US President. Chapter 30 ends with Taylor planning a return to Centralia to take up a teaching position and to work out a way to keep the most hardened cape criminals under her control.

* * *

Through the Looking Glass

I pulled out my key and hesitated, standing a few feet away from my apartment door in the hallway. Yesterday I called Chloe to pass the word along I was returning to Centralia, and sure enough she had organized a party. My friends were in the living room, but there were other people hiding in the kitchen and bedrooms waiting to spring out in surprise. There was a "Welcome Home Taylor!" banner hanging where it would be seen on entry.

It was clear from their behavior they already knew I was outside, ready to enter. How? I didn't sense any capes in the apartment… and then I spotted it through my bugs; a wireless webcam had been duct-taped beside the overhead light in a crude attempt to hide its presence. Inside the apartment, Reid sat on the sofa looking at his laptop. "She's just standing there," he said to the others as they gathered around.

_So two can play the spying game_, I thought to myself with some amusement. _Fair enough._

I squared my shoulders, pretended I hadn't noticed anything and strode to the door. Meanwhile, my friends sprang apart and assumed casual poses as my key rattled in the lock.

"Oh hi Taylor," Chloe waved, as if my return was just another day. "We weren't expecting you so soon," she said, trying very hard to keep her expression neutral. It lasted for all of two seconds before Chloe burst into a wide grin. "Welcome home!"

"Thanks, I —oof!" I said as Chloe launched herself at me and gripped me in a bear hug.

"Surprise!" everyone shouted as people came out of hiding. Food quickly appeared on the dining room table, ranging from home-made goodies to store-bought party trays. Someone started up a music selection, and the party began in earnest.

It quickly became apparent the party goers could be divided into two groups; those genuinely happy to see me—my friends most of all—and those who were there just because, hey, a party! I had a feeling they didn't really understand who the party was for, and once they did, it didn't take long for them to make their excuses. Then there were those who seemed curious about me. Okay, three groups.

"So what's it like to be omnipotent?" some guy asked me as he leered at my breasts, swaying slightly while clutching a Bud Lite. He had clearly made an early start.

"More ubiquitous than omnipotent," I replied coolly. "I can't tell you what's going on far away, like in Europe or Australia, but I can tell you which hand you prefer when you're alone."

The guy turned beet red, and without another word turned and walked away.

"That wasn't very nice," Chloe murmured to me.

"He deserved it," I answered with a prim nod of my head. "I mean, seriously? A Bud Lite?"

After an hour, the party was down to my core group of friends, which I preferred.

"Hey Taylor," Reid said as he snagged the last slice of banana bread from the table before sitting down beside me on the sofa. "Rumor has it your powers have grown to the point where you can do anything you want. Does that include traveling to other worlds?"

"I suppose I can," I said as I eyed the banana bread. "I haven't really thought about it."

Reid folded the slice and offered me half. "Does that include returning home to Bet?" he asked quietly.

_Of course you can, Dorothy_, interjected Tales. _All you have to do is click your heels together._

I ignored Tales. "This is my home now," I replied as I wiped crumbs from my mouth. "And besides, there's a barrier between Dalet and Bet. Even if I could punch through it, doing so isn't a good idea. Breaking the barrier would allow capes from Bet to come here; capes you wouldn't know how to handle."

"But we have you," Sophia said with a small smile. She was leaning against the table, within easy reach of snacks.

"Right, but even so, there's only one of me, and even if I—" I stopped myself.

Even if I forcibly linked together every Dalet cape in the area against their will, I almost said out loud, a coordinated attack from Bet would be hard to defeat.

_Nonsense_, Tales shot back. _Don't underestimate yourself. Even now, you can easily defend against a mere cape attack. I'm preparing you for much worse._

"Well, let's put it this way," I said aloud to my friends. "I can't be everywhere at once."

That evoked a snort of amusement from Tales.

"So why not go through Belgium?" Reid asked, a slight smile on his face.

"Say what?" I replied, thrown off by the apparent non sequitur.

"What I mean is," said Reid as he put up his hands between us, miming an invisible wall. "The Bet capes have put up what amounts to a Maginot Line between us and their world. Why not take a page from history and do an end-run? Just travel to another world and go to Bet from there? That way, the barrier stays untouched."

I shook my head. "It's not like that. Dalet has been walled off from all worlds, not just Bet."

It was Reid's turn to shake his head. "I don't accept that. If the number of Earths that exist are, for all intents, infinite, then there's no way they can block access to everything. I'll bet this barrier only blocks access to worlds they know about."

_It's more than that, but close enough_, commented Tales. _The portal-creating capes have been playing with rubber duckies in a bathtub, compared to what's out there. They think you're stuck in the bathtub, same as them. You're not._

"You may be right," I reluctantly agreed with Reid. "It may be possible to portal to an Earth different enough to get around the barrier, but not so different that it isn't survivable, like having a poisonous atmosphere."

_Unsuitable Earths are a high deviation, and for now out of your reach even if you tried_, laughed Tales. _But there are plenty of untraveled Earths within your reach that are both survivable and recognizable to you. You should practice. You'll need it for later._

"I want to go with you," Reid said abruptly, a serious expression on his face.

I looked sharply at Reid. "Look Reid, I have no idea if I can actually do such a thing, and did you not hear the part about an unbreathable atmosphere? It could happen, and what if I can't find my way back? Have you considered that?"

I could sense Tales about to object. _Shut up Tales!_ I sent. _It's called a white lie, and besides; you're the one who said I can't reach an unsuitable world YET, so it really isn't a lie from a certain point of view._

Reid looked stubborn. I reached out and took his hand. "Look Reid, the fact is there's no way I'll take anyone with me the first time I try it. It's simply too uncertain. I don't care if it's the President of the United States asking, who I've met, by the way—I won't do it."

Reid looked disappointed but gave me a small smile. "Secret Service wouldn't allow it anyway," he said.

I laughed. "Damn straight they wouldn't!" I paused and patted his hand. "Don't worry, Reid. If I find a Disney-like world of fluffy kittens and puppies, you can be sure I'll take everyone on a trip."

Reid put on a look of mock horror before smiling again. "Well, I suppose it's better than running across a world of Terminators." He stood up and stretched. "I better be going. I've got class in the morning." He said his goodbyes to everyone and left.

No sooner had Reid vacated his spot on the sofa, Sophie was over in a flash. "Tell me all about it!" she demanded.

"All about what?"

"You've met the President! Tell me all about it!"

I groaned. Even with a refresh, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

I should have headed for the administration building. That's what I had in mind when I went out for my morning jog. I ran on automatic along familiar paths, my mind busy, thinking about what to put in a syllabus for Parahuman Studies, resources I might need to construct a Dalet Birdcage; meanwhile, my feet carried me in another direction. I was in the woods near campus before I knew it.

Suspicion crossed my mind. "Tales?" I said aloud, since no one was around to think me crazy.

_Yes Taylor?_

"Did you just _happen_ to guide me out here while I was distracted?" I asked in a disapproving tone.

There was a long pause.

_You need portal practice_, Tales finally responded. _You don't need to jog._

"No, I don't _need_ to jog. I don't _need_ to sleep either, but I _like_ sleeping, and I _like_ jogging too. It helps to clear my mind and gives me a chance to think."

_There's a shard for that._

"Why am I not surprised?" I replied in exasperation. I threw up my hands. "Okay, fine. We're out here. Now what?"

_There are several varieties of portal shards_, Tales replied. _Just choose the one that feels right. It may not always be the same one each time._

"Why so many?" I complained. I was complaining mostly because I was still annoyed about having been tricked into the woods, but I was also genuinely curious.

_Why do you have so many clothes?_ Tales replied archly. _The differences may seem meaningless to you now, but that will change._

I waved my hand impatiently and thought about the shards. Immediately, about two dozen portal shards seemed to come to the fore, then half of those rejoined the background, a few more fell away, and soon I was left with seven shards to choose from. _Like arrows in a quiver_, I thought to myself as I looked them over. One in particular seemed appealing.

_An excellent selection_, Tales said in exactly the way a sommelier might praise your choice of wine at a restaurant.

"So what do I do? Imagine a doorway?" I asked.

_If that metaphor works for you_. _It worked for Doormaker, after all. Or you could imagine a wormhole, a stargate, a jump to warp speed, or simply imagine going 'poof' from one place to another._

I began to focus, and the chosen shard started to swirl around me in flashing colors, many well outside the spectrum of human perception—not that anyone watching would have seen anything.

When I was Khepri, I wasn't actually opening portals; I was forcing Doormaker to open portals. Trying to do it myself was different. I began to break into a sweat. One of my knees seemed to go a little wobbly.

"Is it always like this?" I asked with gritted teeth.

_You're trying to access a world much 'farther' away from your own than ever before attempted by a human, and doing it as a first-timer. It's an accomplishment._

It was like trying to push a boulder uphill by will alone, but suddenly, the need for effort dropped away as I stood at an imaginary cusp. I needed to pick a direction, and quickly, before I fell back the way I came and had to start over.

_Choose wisely my young padawan_, Tales intoned solemnly.

"Does it matter which way I go?" I asked worriedly I as struggled to stay on the cusp.

_Not really…._

"Smartass," I muttered as I closed my eyes. "Beam me up Scotty." I picked a world and "fell" in its direction.

I snapped open my eyes as the shard began to sparkle in the visible spectrum around me. As the world vanished, I had the distinct impression anyone watching would have seen me disappear in a classic transporter beam out.

As the "transporter" effect died away, I was no longer in unkempt woods. Instead, I was standing in a well-manicured park. More to the point, I was standing on a cobblestone roadway, about to be run down by a horse of all things! I quickly jumped aside.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The horse was pulling some sort of two-wheel carriage or cart, complete with driver seated in back, perched up high to see over the top and out in the open, controlling the horse with long reins from the back. I noticed it was rolling along on the left side of the roadway.

The driver had shouted something rude at me—something about "which way" I think—but I couldn't be sure. Watch which way I'm going? I'd have to keep that in mind if the rules of the road were like England.

Had I actually jumped to another world, or had I somehow traveled back in time? As I looked around, it sure seemed like I'd gone back in time. I spotted a bright red mailbox nearby. It appeared to be cast iron with a crown and the initials "GR" in relief. There was an ice cream stand, still closed in the early morning, with a sign that read, "All Flavours 3d." And then there was the rather stern-looking bobby walking towards me, wearing one of those tall black helmets with a silver star and crown adorning the front. Could this be 1890's England?

The illusion was broken when the bobby spoke with a distinct New England accent. "Good morning miss," he said as he looked me up and down. It suddenly occurred to me my jogging outfit—an old t-shirt and shorts—wasn't normal attire around here.

"Good morning… uh—" I hesitated, not sure how to address him.

"P.C. McMillan at your service," he supplied.

"Uh, look," I said in a rush. "This will sound strange, but can you please tell me where I am?"

McMillan cocked his head. "You're in HM George III Park, Centralia, Commonwealth of Pennsylvania."

"Interesting," I said to myself. "So I haven't actually traveled anywhere at all, at least in terms of geography." Then I noticed what the (constable?) had said. "That was a surprisingly complete answer," I remarked to him.

"You did rather appear out of nowhere," he remarked dryly. "Though I can't imagine why you would be out and about in your undergarments. I take it you're a witch?"

"A which what?" I replied, confused.

"Don't get cute with me young lady," McMillan replied sternly. "By all rights, I should arrest you for indecent exposure, witch or no. A night shirt would provide more cover."

Comprehension dawned. "Oh, you mean witch!" I laughed. "No, I'm not a witch; I'm a cape."

McMillan looked at me suspiciously. "Cape?" he said, the word dripping with sarcasm.

"Superhero? Parahuman? Someone with hard-to-explain powers perhaps?" I suggested.

McMillan nodded his understanding. "A witch," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Okay, 'witch' then, if that's what you call it. Can't say I like the connotation," I muttered. Aloud I asked, "And what year is this?"

I could tell McMillan was both exasperated and wary of me, but he answered the question. "It is the year of our Lord 2015 of course."

"2015!" I exploded. "How can this be 2015?" I waved my hands around. "Everything I've seen so far, which is admittedly limited, makes me think this is more like the year 1915 at best, or the 1890's. Do you have a radio? I don't see one on you."

That didn't make McMillan happy. "All right, miss. Let's continue this down at the station where we can at least get you a blanket. Come with me." He turned and took a few steps before stopping and looking back, clearly surprised I wasn't quietly following along.

I folded my arms. "Why should I go to the station?" I said defiantly. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Haven't done anything wrong?" McMillan replied. "I have you for indecent exposure, and a case could be made for obstructing a carriageway with malice. Your appearance in front of that cab could have frightened the horse, causing it to bolt, and as a registered witch, you are under oath to obey the lawful orders of a constable." His eyes narrowed. "You _are_ a registered witch, are you not? Do you have your identification papers?"

I shrugged. "If it means anything to you, I do have my driver's license with me." I pulled the license out of my pocket and showed it to him.

"What's this?" McMillan said as he stared at my license. "This isn't a drover's permit. I've never seen anything like it." He looked up at me. "That thing is clearly fake. Whoever heard of a small card like that as identification, with a hand-colored photograph at that? And what's it made of anyway? It's not paper."

I rolled my eyes. "It's plastic," I responded. "Look, where I come from, this is a valid driver's license and it's an officially recognized form of ID."

McMillan shook his head. "Whoever heard of a _driver's_ license? _Drovers_, on the other hand, need a permit to bring sheep into town. This isn't a drover's permit." He looked at me somewhat sympathetically. "You are clearly confused and I'm inclined to overlook things if you come willingly. Refuse and you will be formally charged. I'll be obliged to call in the PRT. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"The PRT?" I wondered aloud. After everything else, hearing a familiar abbreviation was jarring.

McMillan's eyebrows flicked up in surprise. "You haven't heard of the Pinkerton Reprobate Trackers? The witch hunters?"

I laughed. "The name is different, but I have a feeling the function is similar. Tell you what—history has obviously taken a different turn here, and I'd like to meet some of your so-called witches, so yes, I'll go with you to the station."

McMillan looked relieved. "If you'll walk this way…" he said with a wave.

Together we began to follow a curving path. "So you've not had capes—witches—visit from other worlds? Parallel Earths?" I asked as we walked along.

"That sounds like pure fantasy to me," McMillan replied gruffly. "In my view, an extraordinary claim like that requires extraordinary proof."

"I agree, but bear with me for a moment. Would you concede if parallel worlds exist, they might develop at different rates? Some might be behind your world, and others be more advanced?"

"I suppose that's possible," McMillan replied after some thought. "Though I cannot imagine a world more advanced than our own."

I smiled. "The world I'm from is known as Earth Dalet. It's also the year 2015, same as here, but from what I've seen our technology is at least one hundred years ahead of yours. I have no idea why this might be, but there it is. You've seen my driver's license. It's made of a material you've never heard of, it has a color photograph, and that little silvery seal on back is called a hologram."

McMillan shook his head. "I concede your card is extraordinary, but it can also be explained as witchcraft. Some witches are remarkably inventive, creating things never before seen by man."

"Ah," I replied with a grin. "I haven't shown you my best evidence yet. Wait until you see—" I stopped dead in my tracks. "Oh… my… God," I breathed.

My friends and colleagues in both Centralia and New York loved to enculturate me by insisting I watch TV with them, so I was stunned by what I saw up ahead. It was a blue police call box straight out of Doctor Who.

I ran up to the box, a big, silly grin on my face as I walked around it, taking it in. "Can you open it?" I asked excitedly as McMillan caught up.

McMillan shrugged and pulled out a key. I cannot begin to say how saddened I was when it turned out to be nothing more than a box.

"What were you expecting?" McMillan asked as he saw my disappointment.

"Oh, I just had this crazy idea it might be bigger on the inside," I said, embarrassed, looking down, kicking at a rock in the path.

"Well wait here," replied McMillan. "I won't be a tick." He picked up the phone to call in to the station.

As McMillan was phoning in his report, there was a piercing scream elsewhere in the park. He hastily wrapped up and looked around, unsure.

"It came from that way," I said, pointing.

"Stay here, miss!" he ordered as he pulled out a police whistle and blew as hard as he could. I grinned. It was just like in the movies. He took off at a run and I followed along, hot on his heels. I could hear answering police whistles blown in response.

Within a minute we came to an open field set up for some sort of game—cricket I think. There were some players and other bystanders scattered around the edge of the field. Standing in the center was an odd sight—a man in a black bow tie and long-tailed tuxedo, with a white opera mask and a black cape that hung to the ground. The only thing missing was a top hat. Surrounding him were six men dressed alike, a powder blue variation of Constable McMillan's black uniform. From the bystanders I could hear a name being fearfully bandied about. "The Phantom! It's the Phantom!" they called to each other.

"I thought I told you to stay put!" McMillan said angrily.

"And miss out on all the fun? No way!" I replied. "Besides, you might need backup. Did I mention I'm a witch?"

"Yes, but the Phantom is in a class by himself," McMillan said heatedly. "He's been on a crime spree in this city for the last fortnight, using his control of sound to commit robbery of jewelry stores. At least three deaths can be attributed to him, and that's here in Centralia alone."

I couldn't help it; I started to laugh. "Is that it? A few jewelry stores? What about banks? Has he tried to rob a bank?"

"This is a serious matter young lady!" McMillan said sternly. "But no, as far as I know, he hasn't tried to rob a bank. Perhaps he can't smash his way into the vaults."

"Just my point. Where I come from, the Phantom is a rank amateur. He's like a newborn version of Shatterbird. I take it the boys in blue are from the PRT?"

"Yes, they're Pinkertons. When it comes to uncooperative witches, a constable's duty is to stay out of their way."

"Your duty perhaps—not mine," I replied. "Time to end the stalemate I think."

I began to walk out into the field.

"Miss!" McMillan called, but he otherwise made no attempt to restrain me. He was well trained to leave witches alone.

As I walked out, I could hear shocked gasps coming from the bystanders. Whether it was because of my boldness or state of dress I neither knew nor cared. As I approached the nearest Pinkerton, the man noticed and moved to block me.

"Stay back, miss! No civilians allowed. Please vacate to a safe distance to avoid injury."

I smiled. The man was a Brute, maybe a two. The other Pinkertons were much the same, a variety of powers, but low on the scale, as was the Phantom himself. It made them pretty evenly matched, but they would all be outclassed on Dalet, never mind Bet.

"Don't worry, I'm not a civilian," I replied breezily. "I want to talk to a local witch. Are you a so-called 'witch,' or should you be addressed as warlock?"

At that moment, the Phantom decided a distracted Pinkerton was an opportunity to make his escape. He opened his mouth, preparing to send a blast of sound in our direction. For the brute in front of me, the attack might shatter his eardrums, or at least cause him to become disorientated.

Before the Phantom finished his intake of breath, I had a shard ready. I waved dismissively, deflecting the blast up into the sky. I shook my finger at the Phantom and called out, "Wait your turn! I'll be with you in a minute."

I'm not sure who was more shocked at that moment, the Pinkertons or the Phantom.

Recalling a recent criticism about overkill, I gave a showy flourish and soon had butterflies swirling around the Phantom, creating a circle of separation between combatants.

"The Phantom isn't going anywhere," I said to the brute Pinkerton. "Can we talk?"

A smart man, someone like Constable McMillan, would have instantly agreed, particularly after such a display. Had I talked to one of the other Pinkertons first, things might have gone better. If there's one constant in the multi-verse, it's that some people have remarkably fragile egos and take any little thing as an affront to their authority. The man in front of me was not particularly smart.

"I am arresting you," he snarled, "for interfering in the duties of a sworn officer."

"A sworn officer? I thought Pinkerton was a private security company."

"Have you been living under a rock?" the man sneered. "Pinkerton became a government security agency long before you were born. Now hold out your arms."

"Seriously? After I save you from the Phantom, you want to arrest me?"

"I said," he repeated menacingly, "Hold out our arms, or this will go badly."

"Oh, I agree," I replied softly. "This is about to go badly." I dutifully held out my arms with a smile. "After what you've just seen, do you really think you can put handcuffs on me?"

As the Pinkerton reached for his handcuffs—big, bulky things—a number of ideas ran through my head before settling on a little demonstration. The moment he had the cuffs in his hands, they seemed to squirt out of his grasp and land in the grass. He grunted and bent over to pick them up. Once again they slipped away.

"Butterfingers?" I commented idly has he tried over and over to pick up the cuffs, becoming increasingly enraged with each failure.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!" he demanded as he finally stopped trying and straightened up.

"To you?" I replied innocently. "I haven't done anything to you—yet. Your cuffs on the other hand…." I trailed off.

He kicked at the cuffs, but his shoe did no better, sliding off instead of connecting. "What did you do to them?" he barked.

I shrugged. "I simply made the surface area virtually frictionless. You'll have better luck picking up a greased pig than those cuffs."

The Pinkerton had a serious learning defect. While his buddies had been watching and looking wary, he was breathing hard and looked ready to attack me physically.

The standoff broke as a man in plain clothes came striding up with every confidence in the world and flashed a warrant card. "That will be all, sergeant. Carry on."

"You're not Pinkerton!" the sergeant growled at the newcomer.

"Well spotted, and yet, I outrank you," came the cool reply. "Complain to your commanding officer if you must. I suggest you take him—" The newcomer pointed at the Phantom. "—into custody before he dies of fright."

As one, we all turned to look at the Phantom. Sure enough, the Phantom was standing rigidly still, a look of horror on his face as the butterflies swarmed around him. It never occurred to me he might have a morbid fear of insects.

With a flourish, I disbanded the butterflies and the Pinkertons moved in on the gibbering, unresisting Phantom. All too easy.

"Now then," the newcomer said as he turned to me. "Detective Chief Inspector Roberts, CID, Metropolitan Police, Centralia. And you are?" He held out his hand.

We solemnly shook. "Taylor Hebert, soon to be Adjunct Professor at Centralia University, and as a member of the Wardens I'm to become chief jailer of the worst capes… I mean, witches, on my world, Earth Dalet."

Roberts' eyebrows flicked up. "Yes, McMillan said you claimed to be from another Earth. A woman professor and a jailer? That's rather unusual." He signaled McMillan to approach.

I folded my arms. "We have women doctors and police too, and we can vote."

Roberts chuckled. "My wife would dearly love to meet you. She's quite the suffragette." He pointed to the handcuffs in the grass as McMillan came up. "Collect those for the laboratory if you please."

McMillan reached down to pick up the handcuffs. They jumped out of his hand as he applied pressure and landed back in the grass. He tried again using both hands, and it quickly became a game of frogger, the cuffs leaping away farther the harder he tried.

"It's no good, sir," McMillan said as he stood up and straightened his uniform.

Roberts sighed. "Your helmet please," he said to McMillan, holding out his hand.

"The trick to catching a greased pig," said Roberts as he laid the helmet down in the grass, open end towards the handcuffs, "is to direct it into a corner."

He gave the handcuffs a squeeze and they jumped into the helmet. He carefully picked up the helmet and handed it back to McMillan. "Off you go."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir," replied McMillan, looking rather embarrassed.

"Will you accompany me?" Roberts said with a smile. "I have a hansom waiting with a blanket." He held out the crook of his arm.

While phrased as a request, I knew a command when I heard it. I could easily ignore him of course and do whatever I wanted, but as an impromptu representative of Dalet, it would not be smart to unnecessarily make waves. Besides, I couldn't resist his old-fashioned charm.

With a smile, I slipped my arm into his and we walked together. "Are you sure I won't ruin your reputation?" I asked half-teasingly.

The women bystanders all wore dresses down to their ankles, their hair pulled up, with outrageously elaborate hats decorated with feathers. I was beginning to realize not even a prostitute would dare dress like me.

"I'll take my chances," Roberts grinned. "But I'll need to tell my wife all about it before she hears it from someone else."

"In truth, even on my world what I'm wearing is pretty casual. I had not intended to go 'traveling' this morning, but one thing led to another and here I am."

Roberts looked at me. "You are here simply by chance?"

I nodded vigorously. "That's it exactly. I was trying to open a portal—something I've never done before—I succeeded, and my arrival at this particular world was completely random."

"Which begs the question," Roberts said. "Can you find your way back?"

_Of course_, Tales interjected.

"I believe I can, yes," I replied.

Up ahead was the 'hansom.' It was just like the horsey thing that nearly ran me down earlier.

"Oh!" I exclaimed as I pulled loose from Roberts' arm. "I should have thought of this before. I should take pictures!"

"Pictures?" replied a puzzled Roberts. "How can you take pictures when you don't have—"

He paused as I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

"—A camera," he finished. "What in the world is that?"

"This is my smartphone," I replied with a grin. "Though I suppose you might call it a wireless telephone, except it's more than just a phone. It's also a camera, it plays music, and does a bunch of other things. Smile!"

I caught Roberts with a surprised expression, then turned and took some shots of the hansom from different angles, and for good measure snapped a few shots of the park as well.

Once I finished, we climbed into the hansom. Roberts thumped the ceiling and we started off.

The hansom was a strange experience. It had these little doors that only served to protect the legs, nothing more. It sat two people side by side, and the view in front was just the horse. The driver was up and behind us on the outside, out of sight, out of mind. Riding in the hansom reminded me of those Google self-driving cars with no driver controls.

I had the blanket tucked around my legs, much to Roberts' relief. As we rolled at a sedate pace, the horse clip-clopping along the cobblestone drive, I took out my phone and pulled up my photo collection.

"Wanna see?" I grinned as I held up the phone. I began to swipe through the pictures I had just taken.

"Good heavens!" said a thunderstruck Roberts. "That slab of black glass can truly take photographs! Where is the film stored? How could it be developed? And wait! What's this?"

"Oh, those are pictures of friends and other stuff."

"Amazing! Until now I believed you to be sincere but mad, but this small marvel is proof positive you speak the truth. Look at how these people are dressed! And look! What is that machinery behind them?"

"Those are cars—automobiles. That's a parking lot in the background."

"Motorcars?"

"Yes."

"Out of curiosity," Roberts asked as he looked on. "How many motorcars would you say are in your Centralia?"

"I have no idea. Centralia isn't a large town, but there is the university. Maybe a few thousand?"

Roberts shook his head. "I can tell you exactly how many motorcars are in my Centralia—two. Each is owned by a rival prominent family. It's an event when one of those motorcars makes an appearance."

Roberts was too stunned to say anything more as he silently flipped through the pictures, once he got the hang of it. I was glad I didn't have any embarrassing selfies in there.

As he finished, he looked up. "I'd like to keep this, if I may."

Crap! I didn't want to lose my phone. Maybe I could talk him out of it without pulling a "Weaver."

"There's no point really," I replied calmly. "Without a recharger, the battery is only good for about a day. Simply put, that phone depends on infrastructure that doesn't exist here. Imagine giving a primitive tribesman a revolver. Once he's fired all the rounds, it's useless to him. He can't reload it, and he can't maintain it."

"Now look here!" Roberts said, taking umbrage. "That's not entirely true, and we're not savages. Why, just last year our precinct station was wired! We have electric lights now for God's sake, never mind a telephone and telegraph!"

I held up my hand. "Sorry, I don't mean to offend, but if you start trying to stick wires in it with the wrong voltage, you'll destroy my phone, and that's not all. Without a supporting network you can't use it to make a call, text, email, surf the web, and other stuff."

"You lost me there," replied Roberts. "No one will give a deuce about unknown abilities. It may be commonplace to you, but the idea of a single machine performing multiple jobs is revolutionary, and it manifestly works as a camera. Men will gladly kill to get their hands on this, this… I'm not even sure what to call it. 'Telephone' is entirely inadequate to describe this instrument."

"Computer?" I suggested.

"It performs computations as well?" Roberts shook his head in wonder.

Me and my big mouth. Now he wanted it more than ever. Then I realized I was being an idiot.

"Compromise?" I said as I held out my hand. "Give me a minute and you can keep it."

Roberts handed back the phone. He watched as I copied files, then opened the back and removed the SIM and SD cards.

"There," I said as I reassembled the phone and handed it back. "It will still work as a camera and do the other things you care about, and I get to keep my pictures."

"They're so tiny!" he said, as he looked at the cards in my hand. He graciously took out his handkerchief and gave it to me. I wrapped up the cards and stuffed the handkerchief in my pocket, while he happily pocketed the phone.

The hansom turned onto a main road. Woof! After the park, the smell of Centralia was extraordinary. Horses were everywhere pulling carts, wagons, carriages, more hansoms. They even used horses to pull streetcars on rails. The cobblestone streets were dirty with ground-in horse dung, with more steaming piles waiting to be kicked around. There were street sweepers—men with push brooms and rolling garbage cans—trying to clean up after the horses, but it looked like a losing battle to me.

We soon pulled up to the local police station, which was marked with a large, ornate square gas lamp with blue glass, 'Police' written in white on each slab of glass. Roberts helped me out of the hansom, an awkward affair since I was trying to keep the blanket around my legs.

I looked dubiously at the gas lamp. "Didn't you say the station was electrified?" I asked as we entered.

Roberts smiled. "Tradition demands we keep the gas lamp," he replied. "But inside it's all new."

New to Roberts perhaps; it looked seriously out of date to me, and the lighting was decidedly dim. A nervous desk sergeant waved and called out to Roberts. "Sir!"

Before Roberts could respond, another man made an appearance. "D.C.I. Roberts! A word?"

The two men conferred while I was left standing in the waiting area. Through my bugs, I listened to the conversation, but pretended ignorance as Roberts walked back over to me.

"If you could come with me, Miss Hebert? It seems the Assistant Chief Constable is on his way over. We are to wait in the Superintendent's office for his arrival."

We walked a short distance down the hall to a very nicely appointed office. A large oak desk dominated the room, a bookcase with leather-bound books behind it, file cabinets in the corner, and comfortable chairs facing the desk. I immediately noticed a lack of computer or telephone—not even a typewriter. How did he get anything done?

Roberts pulled out my phone and showed it to the superintendent. I was practically forgotten as I heard gasps of amazement, but I didn't mind. It gave me a chance to do a little bug exploring. How could I not? The numbers of horseflies were enormous!

While the buildings were totally different, the road pattern of this Centralia appeared to be nearly identical to what I could recall of my Centralia, if one only considered the older streets. In Dalet, newer highway construction disrupted the original city grid. Here, the grid pattern remained intact. In Dalet, only a single railroad freight line remained. This Centralia had a bustling passenger train station with two platforms and four tracks, with a steam locomotive loading, and a second pulling out of the station.

While it was easy to be charmed by the quaintness of the place, there were also sobering examples of poverty. The electrical grid went almost exclusively to the wealthy. The middle class for the most part still used gas lighting, and the poor made do with candles and oil lamps. Row houses with no toilets shared a few ramshackle outhouses. People, mostly children, dug through the town dump for anything valuable. More children worked in a nearby factory with equipment driven by large leather belts and pulleys from an overhead shaft powered by an outdoor steam engine. There were no safety cages around the open drive belts. A careless slip could mean losing an arm, or worse. It made me glad I wasn't born here.

The superintendent finally looked up from my phone and seemed to remember I was in his office. "Goodness! I have completely forgotten our guest. Would you care for some tea, Miss Hebert?"

"No thank you," I replied. "I'm hot enough with this itchy blanket," I said with a wave.

The superintendent frowned. "Why are you wearing a blanket?"

By way of answer, I stood up and tossed away the blanket. What a relief!

The superintendent couldn't have been more shocked. "Roberts! Why didn't you say something! We can't present her to the Assistant Chief Constable looking like a burlesque showgirl!"

"Sir, if I may, I have always believed one must observe things as they are, not as one wishes them to be. This is how Miss Hebert arrived. To do otherwise biases the judgement."

"Biases the judgement?" repeated the superintendent. "Look Roberts, I take your meaning, but Miss Hebert is a young lady, not a fingerprint. If she wants to be taken seriously, she needs to be dressed as befits her station!"

"Is the Assistant Chief Constable a bald man with large whiskers?" I asked, interrupting. "Because if so, he's just outside the police station."

"And proper presentation goes double for witches!" finished the superintendent. He frantically waved at me. "For God's sake put that blanket back on! We'll just have to muddle through."

As I rewrapped the blanket around me, there was a knock at the door. "Sirs?" said the desk sergeant as he stuck his head in. "The Assistant Chief Constable is here to see you."

The superintendent glanced at me and back at the sergeant. "Show him in."

A moment later, the man I described came striding in. Amusingly, he was a good three or four inches shorter than me, but that didn't stop him from walking with a swagger.

"Bertram," he said without preamble. "What's this I hear about one of your men meddling with the PRT again?" Then he noticed Roberts. "Ah, the very man. The PRT claim you interfered in the capture of a dangerous witch. What have you to say?"

"Not at all, sir. The Phantom was captured quiet easily by the PRT."

"Not the Phantom!" retorted the Assistant Chief Constable. "They claimed there was a second witch—a woman."

"Sir, with all due respect to the PRT, in my judgement they were not on the verge of capturing a 'dangerous' witch woman, because the PRT were entirely out of their depth. There was indeed a second witch, but she assisted the Pinkertons in their capture of the Phantom. Without her aid, lives may have been lost, and she is a visiting emissary from another Earth!"

"An emissary!" thundered the Assistant Chief Constable. "Have you taken leave of your senses? What ineffable twaddle! And where is this supposed emissary now, whom you allowed to escape?"

The superintendent cleared his throat. "Miss Taylor Hebert? May I introduce Sir Reginald Gregson, Assistant Chief Constable, Metropolitan Police. Sir Reginald? Miss Taylor Hebert, emissary from Earth Dalet."

Sir Reginald turned and starred at me for the first time. "This is the witch? I took her for a charwoman!"

"Pleased to meet you Sir Reginald," I said, trying to be nice. I held out my hand and Sir Reginald simply looked at it with distaste. Perhaps he thought I was going to turn him into a frog. Do I have a shard for that?

Sir Reginald's eyes narrowed. "The PRT claim you threatened them with man-eating butterflies!"

"Can butterflies do that?" the superintendent asked uncertainly.

"Are you trying to be funny?" shouted Sir Reginald.

"No sirs," Roberts responded calmly but firmly. "Butterflies cannot do that. It would seem the PRT are as familiar with butterflies as they are with the art of discretion and tact."

"Gentlemen!" I said loud enough to get their attention. "Like I said before, I had not really planned on an extended visit to another world. I need to get back home, but before I go, I have a question. Have any of you heard of Scion? Gold Morning?"

Their blank expressions were answer enough.

"There are things you need to know about the greater reality out there. Where witches get their power, for a start. Scion was the source of this power, and he—it, really—was capable of existing across multiple Earths simultaneously. In spite of this, it's clear while some Earths were utterly destroyed in the battle against Scion, others, like your world, remain completely untouched, other than a few fractured shards finding their way here, giving a few people relatively low levels of power.

"Now we have a problem. There's a second 'Scion' on its way. If you will allow it, worlds like yours could become refugee centers for other Earths attacked by this new entity. In exchange, Dalet could agree to be a refugee center for your world if it is attacked. I'm not an official emissary, but I do have the ear of the President of the United States."

Sir Reginald looked as if he expected me to pull the president's ear out of my pocket. "Do you seriously expect us to believe such a fantastic tale? The lie can be discovered in its own telling. A president of a so-called United States? What balderdash!"

"Each world has its own history," I said with a smile. "Some quite similar, and others markedly different. At a guess, our history diverged from yours somewhere around 1776—or perhaps it started decades earlier—I don't know. Please consider carefully what I have said, and pass on what I've said to your King, Parliament, or whatever kind of government you have. You have my smartphone as evidence. If you attempt to recharge it, I suggest trying low voltage, about twelve volts DC. Any more than that might fry it."

"What's special about the year 1776?" asked the superintendent.

"A revolution, gentlemen, which you need in your thinking if you are to survive the oncoming storm. Now I really must return to my own world. Good luck, gentlemen. We are all going to need it."

Sir Reginald began shouting, but I paid no attention.

"Beam me home, Tales," I deliberately said aloud. "Let's make it showy."

_I know just the shard_, Tales replied.

As I focused, colors began to swirl around me. The last thing I saw was Roberts with a big grin on his face as Sir Reginald fainted dead away.

I was standing inside an abandoned store front, a heavy layer of dust on the floor. A few scraps of dusty lumber and trash were scattered around, but otherwise the room was empty.

"Are we back?" I asked as I forced the front door open. I was in a section of downtown where a few small businesses had closed thanks to the big-box stores.

_Oh yes_, replied Tales. _We're back, but the important thing is, you got around the barrier. You could have just as easily continued on to Earth Bet instead._

"Next time," I replied as I began to walk home.


End file.
